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His gun?

No, Gamache took in quickly as he made for the door. Not a gun. Too big. It was a fireplace poker. As lethal as a gun, if swung at a person’s head.

And it looked, by his stance, that that was exactly what Cameron was preparing to do.

Tracey was raising his arms to protect himself.

Gamache opened the bistro door with a bang, and Cameron turned around.

“He’s going to kill me,” shouted Tracey. “Stop him.”

“Shut up, you stupid shit.”

“Cameron,” snapped Gamache. “Step away. Now.”

After a slight pause, Cameron threw the poker onto the floor in disgust. And stepped back.

“I wasn’t going to hit him,” he said. “I just wanted to scare him.”

“Get over there,” said Gamache, pointing to the far corner.

The former left tackle jerked toward Tracey, who squeezed tighter into the corner. Then Cameron marched away, shoving a table as he passed Gamache.

“What’s happening?” asked Gabri, coming cautiously out of the swinging door between the bistro and the kitchen, followed by Olivier, who was holding up a frying pan.

“Nothing,” said Cameron.

“Nothing?” demanded Tracey. “He was going to hit me with that.” He pointed to the poker.

“Did you see anything?” Gamache asked Gabri and Olivier.

Both men shook their heads.

“He told us to go into the kitchen and stay there,” said Olivier.

“He’d picked up the poker,” said Gabri. “We didn’t need to be told twice. I tried to call you, but of course your phone didn’t work.”

He held up the receiver, still clutched in his hand.

Gamache turned to the agent who’d accompanied him and gestured toward Tracey. “Watch him.”

Then he led Cameron farther away from the others.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.

“What’re you saying?” demanded Tracey. “I have a right to know. He was going to kill me.”

“Be quiet, please,” said Gamache, and while his tone was polite, anyone who saw the man would not be fooled by the courtesy.

Even as he turned back to Cameron, Gamache admitted that what Tracey said might very well be true. It certainly looked like that.

But how things looked and how they really were, were often two very different things in a murder investigation.

He waited for an answer.

“I wanted to get a confession out of him,” said Cameron. “I wanted to scare him, not beat him. I had my phone on, recording. I can show you.”

“You recorded yourself threatening a suspect with a fireplace poker?” asked Gamache, incredulous. “You know that any confession you might’ve gotten would’ve been inadmissible, and the whole case thrown out.”